The Dragon's Den
by Chaidie
Summary: This story starts when Hermione wakes up in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor and is set during the last book of the HP series. Harry and Ron are unsuccessful at saving Hermione from Bellatrix and are forced to leave with Dobby to save themselves, and in order to keep hunting Horcruxes. Rated M for a reason! Will contain torture scenes, violence and occasional sexual content. Dramione
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note:** Welcome to my story _The Dragon's Den _! This is th_ e _prologue_ _and is therefore quite short. The following chapters will be a bit longer, but not excessively so! I will try to update regularly if possible. Yes, there will be some romance going on, but it will be progressing quite slow! I don't want to rush things ;) Hermione and Draco aren't exactly the best of friends, and the situation they find themselves in is not exactly ideal for feelings to blossom. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And reviews are always welcome :)_

 _Update: Thanks to Stupefyshy for pointing out that the formatting was off! It should be fixed now._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, their backstory or this wonderful world of magic!_

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 **Chapter 1: Prologue**

A jolt of pain went through her body, instantly waking her up. The room she found herself in was completely shrouded in darkness, but she could feel the presence of someone standing very close. She could feel the cold emanating from the hidden figure.

Hermione could tell that the person was a dark witch or wizard, just from the faint dark magic oozing from him or her. The person moved lightly across the floor, away from the girl that was chained to the cold stone wall in the Malfoy Manor's dungeon.

Hermione heard a faint _click_ , and an orb of light flew towards her left and into a lantern on a small round table in the corner of the room. The light burnt in her eyes. She had been in the dark for weeks, or even months, she couldn't tell.

Trying to ignore the sharp pain that suddenly entered her body again, she lifted her eyes to the woman standing in front of her. There was no mistaking the dress and the black curls of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her crazy eyes and evil grin told her everything she needed to know.

The woman was excited about something. This was the first time Hermione got to see her torturer ever since Harry and Ron had managed to escape. She knew they would come for her, and a part of her hoped they would. The other part of her knew that if they did, the war would end. And not with the result that they all hoped for. Keeping her trapped in the manor was intentional.

They kept her alive because they knew her friends would try to save her.

At least there was a comfort in knowing that she would not be killed, at least not yet, as they still had a use for her. So far she had been kept mostly to herself, living off a mixture of water and raw eggs fed to her by a house elf once a day. It was disgusting, but it did keep her alive.

Every other evening someone would come in and ask questions about Harry's movements, his plans and about the order. More often than not they would crucio first, and ask questions later. Sometimes she would even get a round of torture without the questions. She figured they either used her torture sessions as a sport or to train the weaker death eaters. Luckily her mind was still intact.

She also figured they would want to keep her sane for the time being, as she _did_ sit on information that might be valuable to Voldemort. Why they hadn't used veritaserum on her yet, she didn't know. They did have Snape on their side after all.

The Half Blood Prince.

One of the greatest potion masters of the century. Maybe he was too busy running Hogwarts. Or maybe running was the wrong word to use. According to the radio programme that Ron had been listening to, Snape was barely ever seen. He mostly kept to himself, letting the Carrows do all the dirty work. What he was up to was hard to tell, but he was certainly not brewing veritaserum for the Dark Lord.

Hermione's thoughts snapped back to reality as she felt cold fingers grabbing her chin, lifting her head to face their owner's face. The dark eyes of Bellatrix stared into her own brown orbs, sending shivers through her body. That's when she noticed what the woman was holding up in front of her. The deluminator. "Recognise this, mudblood?"

No.

It couldn't be.

She was positive that Ron had the deluminator with him when they escaped with Dobby. She could faintly remember it. She had been kept in the drawing room as the boys had been sent down to the dungeons after Bellatrix found the Sword of Gryffindor in her beaded bag. Ron had the deluminator on his person. She was absolutely sure. Had they come for her? Had they been captured?

Her eyes closed as her thoughts moved to Ron. Sweet, warm and stupid Ron. He couldn't be dead. She forced that thought out of her head and made herself open her eyes again. "Your little boyfriend didn't have a chance against the snatchers we sent after him," the woman in front of her chuckled. Hermione suppressed the tears that were threatening to escape her eyes as a lump started to form in her chest.

She had to keep sane. The woman was just testing her, she was sure. She had to be. "Now, he didn't last very long, unfortunately." She moved away from Hermione's face, twirling the deluminator between her long, pale fingers. "We weren't able to extract all the information we wanted."

Her light footsteps moved her towards the door. "I will be back soon, Miss Granger."

As the door closed behind her, the light went out again. Hermione was left with her greatest fear. They had been caught. It was all over. They wouldn't have any more use for her now. She would be killed at any time now unless they wanted to have even more fun with her.

The thoughts of death felt welcoming compared to the endless torture that awaited her if what Bellatrix had said was true. Then again, she hadn't even mentioned Harry. Had they captured or killed Harry Potter, she still wouldn't be alive, she was sure of it. The small sliver of hope was not much to quench her fear, but it kept her from wanting to die just yet. Which she supposed was a good thing. And after all, she didn't _know_ if Ron had been killed, it was just an assumption. Or maybe more a deduction from what she had been told.

It wasn't as if she could trust Bellatrix to tell the truth, but at the same time, she _did_ have the deluminator. And she knew there was only one of those in the whole world. Dumbledore's own creation, given to Ronald Bilius Weasley in his last will and testament. That item meant a great deal to Ron. It had shown him the way back to her, and to Harry, the way back to himself.

Her wrists were aching. She couldn't tell for sure, but she had a feeling that the metal of the chains had dug into her skin. The pain was still present, but she was oblivious to it. She wasn't able to shut it out, quite the contrary, but she had almost gotten used to the sensation. Now it was almost just an annoyance. Just like a fly buzzing around in your bedroom at night, keeping you awake. Every time you are about to fall asleep, the buzzing re-appears.

Just like the pain in her body re-appeared just as she was almost about to relax. Relaxation had become a stranger to her. The closest she could get to rest was the blackouts that her torture sessions sometimes provided her with.

She heard a scream from somewhere outside the door to her cell. It sounded like a man. She could tell it was the scream of a victim of the cruciatus curse. It stung in her ears, and she closed her eyes once more. She just had to keep going. If Harry was still out there, there was still a chance that this would be over. Even if it would take years, she would not give herself up as long as there was just a sliver of hope.

Two hours later, the screams from the other cell had finally died out, most likely due to the victim losing consciousness, and her door opened once more. Again there was the soft click of the deluminator, and the room was lit once more.

Bellatrix skipped into the room, almost joyfully, her hand resting on the doorframe as if she was waiting for someone else to join them. And just behind her, with hesitating steps, walked no other than Draco Malfoy. He was paler than usual, his eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn't slept for days, and an expression she had never seen on his face before.

Calm.

His usual expression, from what she remembered from school, had been either a mocking smirk, a sneer or a face filled with cowardice. But this face had been ribbed of all emotion. It wasn't even cold, it was simply empty.

The last time she had seen his face had been the day she had been captured by the snatchers together with Harry and Ron, all those days, weeks or months ago. It was funny how time seemed to lose its grip when one was in captivity. That day his face had been filled with fear. From what she knew, he had spent the year at Hogwarts and had been home for Easter break the day they were captured. Which meant that the current time would have to be the summer holidays.

She had apparently been there for a few months after all. Unless he had been taken out of school for some reason, but there was no reason she could think about.

Her focus shifted back to Bellatrix as the woman started to speak. "Well done, Draco. I see your training with the Dark Lord has finally started to pay off," she said, stroking the young man's hair with her hand. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He refused to look at either of the women in the room. Bellatrix let go of her nephew and swiftly moved towards Hermione, grabbing a fistful of her bushy hair and pulling her head back, revealing her neck to the older woman.

Bellatrix pulled out her wand and slid it from Hermione's collarbone and up to right underneath her chin, sending a small spark of burning pain through it, leaving a red mark. "I am sure you heard the screams, Miss Granger," Bellatrix said, referring to the man Hermione had been forced to listen to for the previous hours.

"Those screams came from no other than Rowle. Do you remember him? Apparently, you did some nice handiwork with his memory. Luckily, the Dark Lord has figured out a way to penetrate the subconscious of someone who has been obliviated, through torture." She gave a snicker, as she lowered her wand from Hermione's throat. She leaned in closer to the girl and whispered into her ear: "and that gave us the opportunity to use him for some training. The Dark Lord has decided that his servants need to learn his tricks. It would be more effective that way, don't you agree?"

She moved away from Hermione again, leaning herself on her nephew's shoulder. "Draco here has been hand plucked by the Dark Lord himself! He has been personally tutored by our Lord ever since you arrived here three months ago. Who need NEWT's when you can be the Dark Lord's favourite?" Hermione sensed a hint of jealousy in her voice but chose to ignore it. At the same time, she seemed ecstatic that _her_ nephew had been chosen for private lessons with the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord is, unfortunately, forced to leave for a few weeks and has left me in charge of our dear Draco's tutoring for the time being. And since _you_ are my favourite little project, I figured it would be the perfect opportunity! He has complained about you ever since he set his foot in Hogwarts, after all."

Hermione closed her eyes. Draco Malfoy, the boy that had hated her, even wanted her dead, for seven years, was now given the opportunity to torture her whenever he wished, using whatever methods necessary.

He would try to break her.

He would do anything to please his aunt, his father and most of all Voldemort. He hated people like her.

Muggle-borns.

 _Mudbloods_.

And there was no denying what she was now, as it was carved into her forearm. A mark cursed never to completely heal or fade. A constant reminder that she was not good enough, that she was not welcome in this society, in this magical, wonderful world.

This world belonged to the purebloods now. It belonged to Voldemort and his followers.

No matter how bright of a witch she was, no matter how hard she worked to fit in, she would never be equal. That was something she truly knew now. She knew she would never be accepted completely. Even if the war was won, even if Voldemort would die, she would still be an outcast. She would still be inferior to those who knew what she was.

"Go on, Draco. Show me what you have been taught."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Authors Note:** Thank you so much to everyone who followed and favourited my story after only reading the prologue! It was also very nice to get a few reviews. Reviews are always helpful, both to keep the motivation flowing but also to sort out issues with the story or to gain inspiration! I do appreciate all of you._

 _This chapter is a bit longer than the prologue, and is written from Draco's point of view. There is still no romance going on, and there won't be for a little while, but at least in this chapter they meet, although under quite horrible circumstances._

 _Please read and review! It would make me very happy :D_

 _Disclaimer: I still do not own any of the characters or this wonderful world._

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Chapter 2

 _«Crucio!»_

The man in front of him started vibrating as if every cell in his body tried to escape from their place. He knew how it felt like. He had been there on the floor himself, several times, being the subject of torture. This was just the same, but somehow it was also so very different. Draco had been tortured to learn, to strengthen his mind and body. Someone who could endure the cruciatus curse could endure anything.

Or so he had been told.

The man at his feet was not there to learn. Not anymore. Rowle, according to what Draco knew, had been successful in locating Potter, Granger and Weasley somewhere in London at the end of last year's summer. He and Dolohov had, obviously, failed to retrieve them and had somehow been obliviated in the process. The Dark Lord had been furious and had locked them both up in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

Voldemort had been successful in retrieving lost memories from an obliviated witch in Albania, through torture, and had decided it should be possible with these wizards as well. What they hadn't anticipated was the strength of the spell that had been cast on the men. Dolohov had died after five months of daily torture, Draco guessed that he had starved himself to death, while Rowle was a larger guy and could apparently sustain more injury. Or he was just less intelligent. Probably the latter.

Draco had been forced to visit the manor every weekend in addition to the holidays this year. At first, he was unsure of the reason why, but it became evident when his aunt, Bellatrix, had started to train him. She had told him that he needed to be ready for what was to come. Every weekend she had used the cruciatus curse on him, trying to make him fight it. So far it had been unsuccessful.

During the weekdays he had daily sessions with the headmaster, Professor Snape, who was teaching him occlumency. Apparently, Draco seemed to be a natural. His aunt kept telling him that his strength at occlumency could greatly improve on his ability to withhold the torture curse, that he should be able to keep it at bay with his mind, but so far it hadn't worked at all. And he knew that she was being _kind_ to him. She could have inflicted so much more pain on him if she had truly wanted to. But had she done that, Narcissa would have murdered her in her sleep. Draco was grateful for his mother. She wasn't as headstrong and crazy as her sister, but when it came to her son, she would do anything to protect him.

His dad was a whole other story. The man he had once cherished, the man who had been the Dark Lord's most faithful servant, had deteriorated into something unrecognizable. After fifth year when his father had been arrested, presumably for trying to kill Potter and his friends or something, everything had changed for their family. Lucius Malfoy had been truly broken in Azkaban. Draco had a feeling that he had finally understood the danger of serving Voldemort, as he had taken the consequences. Did Lucius feel regret for what he had done? Probably not. The man had been selfish his entire life and had gained a lot through being exactly that. What Lucius regretted was the fact that he had been caught. Not only did he have to serve in Azkaban, with dementors draining him of all happiness and maybe part of his soul, but he had to face the Dark Lord and all of his followers, branded as a failure. On top of that, he had failed his family.

Yes, the Malfoys still had all the money in the world, as well as several amazing and huge properties spread across Europe, but their position in society had deteriorated. Before Voldemort had taken control of the ministry, their family had been banned from participating in any affairs, and all their donations had been cancelled. The worst part, however, had been when Voldemort had turned to his son.

Draco understood it now.

The fact that he had been chosen to kill Dumbledore was not because he had been skilled, or that he had been closer to the late headmaster as he went to Hogwarts. No, the reason why he had been chosen for the task was because Voldemort expected him to fail. He expected Draco to fail his mission, thus giving him a reason to kill him, or at least to make his life a misery. All that was just to punish Lucius. It had never been about Draco at all. He understood now why his mother had made an unbreakable vow with Professor Snape, although he had hated it at the time. At the time, he had been stupid. At first, he had actually thought that the Dark Lord had chosen him because he had _believed_ in him.

He had probably known all along, deep inside. But a part of him had wanted the power, had wanted to be seen as someone capable of an important mission. Someone to be feared and respected. He had wanted to be seen as his own person, and not someone overshadowed by his ancestors.

He had, for a small amount of time, wanted to kill Dumbledore.

Not because he hated the man, as much as he didn't like him, but because he would have achieved something. He had worked so hard on that project for almost a whole year. At the same time, he had almost intentionally failed. He could have easily gotten the cursed necklace to Dumbledore if he had truly tried. He could have definitely been able to conceal the poison in the mead a lot better, had he truly wanted to. That whole year had been a failure.

And he couldn't tell his father about it.

Oh, how ignorant he had been.

And now there was no way out of the situation he found himself in. The excitement had left his person. Even the fear had started to subside. The only thing left was his will to survive, and his will to protect the only person left in his life that he actually cared about: his mother.

"You're not concentrating, Draco." The voice was cold, and almost like a whisper. Draco let go of his train of thought and lowered his wand. Rowle's screams turned into muffled grunts of pain.

Draco felt the long fingers of the Dark Lord touching his shoulder. "I do not approve of your state today. When I get back from my journey, I expect you to be back to normal. Do you understand?" there was not a hint of anger in the voice, but also no compassion. It was simply calm. Which made it even more terrifying. Draco nodded his head, not showing any emotion what so ever. Apparently, the Dark Lord liked his lack of response, is lack of fear, because he gave a smile. "You have been using the cruciatus curse for several hours now. Finish him off, and get some rest." The Dark Lord swiftly moved behind Draco, awaiting the young man to do what he had been told. "Yes, my Lord." He lifted his wand.

 _"Crucio"_

Again, the screams echoed through the Manor, this time even louder and filled with even more pain than previously. This time, Rowle lasted only for a few minutes before blacking out and collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit.

"Well done." The Dark Lord moved out of the cell and snapped his fingers. Not a moment later, Draco's aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, appeared in front of them. She lowered her head. "Yes, my Lord?" she said, her voice filled with adoration. "I will be leaving now. Draco will be your responsibility until my return. Keep teaching him, and keep him practising what we have been working on all year." Just after Bellatrix had nodded in response, Voldemort disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Only he was able to disapparate from, or apparate to, the Malfoy Manor. Not even Lucius, the owner and head of the house, was allowed to do that. It didn't sit well with Draco in all honesty, but it had to be accepted.

Draco called for a house elf, and just a second after he had closed his mouth, a little house elf appeared by his feet. It was bowing low, his bat-like ears almost touching the floor. "At your service, Master," it croaked. "Clean up this mess, and make sure the man gets some water. He needs some strength back for tomorrow's session. And change his clothes as well. I am pretty sure he spoiled himself when we rounded the second hour." As he was talking he could hear Bellatrix chuckle behind him. She was obviously having a great time thinking about what had transpired in the room.

Draco couldn't care less. He had been torturing the man for so long that it had simply become routine by now. The first few weeks had been horrible though. He had only been forced to use an unforgivable once before his training had started, and that was the day he had been branded a death eater. He had stored the memories of that day somewhere far away in his subconscious, as he couldn't bring himself to re-live them. All he had decided to keep was the feeling of hate that had started to grow inside him that day. A hate for Voldemort, a hate for his father, but maybe even more so: a hate for himself. He had, in many ways, let it happen. He had _wanted_ to become a death eater. He had _wanted_ the power that came with. But he hadn't realised what it actually meant. And not to mention how it would change his entire world, his entire person.

"You are coming with me. I want to show you something nice! A gift if you will." Bellatrix stroked Draco's back, almost compassionately, as she lead him down the dark hallway. The last time he had received a gift from his aunt, it had been a shrunken head of some house elf that used to care for him as a little child. He had, of course, pretended to be ecstatic. In other words, he wasn't very excited about what awaited him this time. They made their way down to the cell furthest from the stairs that lead down to the dungeons. As the door opened, and Bellatrix skipped into the room, his eyes moved towards the silhouette hanging chained up at the wall. He didn't recognise the young woman before Bellatrix clicked that stupid contraption she had been carrying around for weeks after capturing the Weasel. Weasley. Whatever.

There was no mistaking the massive head of bushy curls, and her small frame. He had almost forgotten that she was still here. Somehow Bellatrix, who was in charge of her interrogation and torture, had kept the girl to herself. The girl was unmoving. Draco wasn't sure if she was passed out, sleeping or just oblivious to who was standing in front of her now. Or maybe she had simply given up and had lost her ability to care anymore. If his calculations were right she had been in the dungeon for about three months. His eyes moved to the floor. He couldn't look at her.

She reminded him of the old days. Of Hogwarts. When his biggest complaint had been schoolwork, Dumbledore and Saint Potter and his friends. That was all gone now. He didn't have to do schoolwork anymore, as the Dark Lord had practically signed him out of school to focus on his training ever since Easter break. He didn't even need to take his NEWT's as his future was already settled for him. Dumbledore was dead, which was mostly Draco's own fault. Potter had been missing for weeks. Weasley was… well. He didn't really know what Weasley was these days. And here, right before him, was no other than Hermione Granger. The brightest witch of her age. A mudblood. An annoyance. But also a very powerful witch. Even the Dark Lord had been unsuccessful in retrieving Rowle's memories, and it was only after Draco found out that it was the witch before him who had cast the spell that he understood just how skilled she really was. He had always known that she had been top of the class, the only student to beat himself, but she had surprised him then. Memory charms were complicated, intricate, and required a lot of training. There was a reason the ministry had a whole department working on memory modifications. Although the focus of that department had changed drastically after Voldemort took over. They mostly worked on obliviating or modifying the memories of people who knew more than they should. Or imprinting false memories to throw the order off track, and sometimes simply to create chaos. Chaos, according to the Dark Lord, was power.

He was half-oblivious to his aunt's words, as she had moved over to Granger and lifted her head. Draco decided he would keep his eyes on the floor for the time being.

"Go on, Draco. Show me what you have been taught."

At once, he lifted his silver eyes to the girl in front of him. She was staring at him. He could tell that she was terrified, but she hid it well. Draco looked over at his aunt, calmly stating: "I have been at it for three hours, aunt Bella. I would much prefer to get some rest if you don't mind." There was only truth in his words. He was exhausted after his training session with the Dark Lord. Using the cruciatus curse was difficult enough, but using it for hours was near impossible. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold it for much longer. Bellatrix looked at him, studying his features, trying to tell if he really was as exhausted as he let on. She decided he was telling the truth, and sighed. "Very well. That was not the reason I brought you here, anyway. You see, Miss Granger here has been left for me to do with whatever I please. And as you have been working so hard this year, I have decided to give you the same pleasure!" the woman gave out an evil giggle. Draco forced a smile.

"She is a mudblood, but there is no denying she is still quite pretty, don't you think?" Draco didn't reply, his eyes fixated on his aunt. He didn't like where this was going. "So I figured, if you wanted, you could have your way with her," the woman added, her smile growing even bigger. "Or at least you could use her for practising your curses. Rowle is not much of a challenge, as he is already half-dead." That sounded more like it.

Draco gave her a bored expression. "Fine. I'll practice on her. You are quite right when you say there is no challenge in Rowle anymore. At least Granger might put up a fight. Which makes it so much more satisfying to break her." His words were carefully picked. He couldn't care less about breaking the mudblood, or saving her for that matter, but he knew that his words would satisfy his aunt. The quicker she was satisfied, the faster he could retreat to his mother and eat supper. He was starving.

"Very good, Draco! I am sure you will find her to your liking. She has been great fun so far and still hasn't revealed any information. She seems to be quite skilled in occlumency." Draco nodded in understanding. "And if you ever wanted to, feel free to torture her in… other ways." Draco sighed. "You mean rape her?"

He could see Granger twitching in her chains by the wall as he uttered the words. "First of all, that is disgusting. She is a mudblood, auntie. And I have no problems getting laid if I so desired. Also, rape is not really my style." He said it all so calmly as if he was almost used to this type of conversation. The witch shrugged. "Fine. Do as you wish, darling." She walked over to Granger one last time, running one of her long fingernails down the girl's cheek. Draco could easily see that she had been crying. "At least give me the pleasure of one little curse, Draco. I know you have been practising your wandless magic. Make her hurt just a little? I haven't had time to take proper care of my little plaything today."

With a sigh, Draco nodded and Bellatrix moved away from Granger with a look of anticipation. Draco met the pleading brown eyes of his schoolmate. Only seconds later, Granger's scream filled the room as several deep cuts started to appear in random places on her body as if she had been cut with invisible knives. Blood started dripping from her wounds, making runny patterns across her bare face, soaking her robes. A pool of blood started to form on the floor underneath her body.

"Well done Draco! I am impressed with your skills. It is definitely not easy to perform such precision with a nonverbal, wandless curse." Her voice sounded soft, or as soft as her voice _could_ sound, and it made Draco's stomach twirl. He had no interest in hurting Granger, but he knew that there was no other option. He had to get his aunt out quickly though, so he would be able to heal the girl's wounds before she bled out. "Thanks, Auntie. I am famished. Could you go tell mother to get supper ready? I'll clean up here. I'll be with you in a few moments." The older woman smirked, gave her nephew a kiss on the cheek, and left the room with light steps.

Draco closed the door behind her and hurriedly got to work. There was only one way to heal the wounds caused by the sectumsempra curse, as he had experienced hands-on in his sixth year, and it had to be done precisely. He knew he could do it, as he had tested the curse several times already during his practice with the Dark Lord and had always been able to heal the subject back to perfection, but it was still a bit of a challenge.

Draco quickly moved towards the young woman bleeding out in front of him, his wand raised, and snapped his fingers to call a house elf as he started with the incantations. " _Vulnera Sanentur"_ he whispered, guiding his wand over her wounds, watching the bloodstream slowing down. A house elf appeared a second later. "Get me some essence of dittany, a blood replenishing potion and a clean cloth. You should be able to find all of it in my study. Quickly." The house elf disapparated immediately. " _Vulnera Sanentur"_ he chanted again, his voice sounding like a soft song, almost like a lullaby. Her wounds started to heal. The third time, the once deep cuts in the girl's pale skin closed up completely, leaving bloody and raw scar tissue. "The dittany will prevent any scarring, so don't worry. You won't end up looking like me." It sounded funny in his head, imagining Granger with short, blonde hair and silver eyes, but the girl in front of him did not provide him with any reaction.

The house elf appeared with all the requested items, and Draco quickly got to work with the dittany, starting with Grangers exposed arms and face, using the cloth to spread it out evenly across her skin. She didn't even flinch at the touch. It didn't go unnoticed by him. He knew that the dittany stung immensely when it came in contact with a wound.

He moved his hands underneath her robe, healing all the wounds he could find. He chose to ignore the tingling feeling rising in his core at the touch of her exposed flesh. He didn't look at her though. Not because he was disgusted with her, no. He was disgusted with himself. He had done this to her. He could have just told his aunt off, but once again he had to go try and impress her. He had been playing this role of torturer for so long that his mask had now almost melted into one with him. It frightened him to think that he might be as bad as he pretended to be.

Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, his focus went back to the girl in front of him. The wounds were all in the process of being fully healed by the dittany, but she had lost a lot of blood. She was definitely not passed out, as he could sense her eyes opening and watching him. Draco reached for the bottle of blood-replenishing potion, and turned his eyes towards hers, reaching his hand to lift her chin again. "Open up, Granger."

Nothing happened. She just kept staring at him with those eyes. There was not a hint of fear left in them. Only hate. Deep and pure hate.

He couldn't blame her.

He would have hated himself too had he been in her position.

His grip on her face became harder, and he almost had to force her mouth open before she gave in. She wasn't stupid. She knew that she had suffered blood-loss, and would need the potion to be able to survive. For a moment he had thought she had given up. "You know," he started, "the first time I ever experienced that spell," he started pouring the potion into her mouth. She didn't fight it anymore. "was when I was attacked by no other than Harry Potter in a bathroom about a year ago." His voice was not angry, but not compassionate. It was simply calm. He realised the similarity with Voldemort and hesitated for a moment.

No.

He was nothing like Voldemort.

He felt the girl twitch a little at the mention of her best friend's name. "I almost died that day," he continued. "If professor Snape hadn't arrived when he did, I would be dead. And your dear Potter would have been a murderer. You see, murdering someone is simple. It only takes a stupid child, a weapon and a little dash of fear or some anger." He wasn't really sure where he was going with this, but somehow it felt nice to just say it. "Anyone can murder someone, Granger. That doesn't mean they are cold-blooded killers. It doesn't mean they want to rib someone of their right to live. Potter didn't try to kill me that day. Just like I have no intention of killing you. Do you understand me?"

Granger had swallowed the last bit of the potion, and nodded carefully, her eyes not leaving his. "The difference between me and Potter is that he was simply acting out of hatred and curiosity, while I am in full control of my actions. I know what I am doing. I wouldn't have cast that curse on you had Snape not taught me how to heal it." He could tell she was listening carefully now. "All that matters, Granger, is to stay alive." He let go of her face and turned towards the house elf that was still stood in the corner of the room.

"Clean this up, and give her some more of that potion in two hours. Oh, and grab her a new robe, this one is soaked in blood. It's going to stink if it's not taken care of."

With that, Draco Malfoy left for supper, as if it was just a normal day, although his mind was spinning. Why he had felt like sharing his thoughts with Granger, was beyond him. But done was done, and as he had learned the last year, he now had to live with the consequences, however severe they might be.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_ _So… excuses? Well, there aren't any. Or, one could say: life happened. Went back to my home country after spending a few months in England, and life just hit me straight in the face. I've gone back to university, and I have had mountains of things to do. I know, it's a bad excuse, but that's the truth of it! Now, I have exams. And what do I do? I procrastinate my exams and write fanfiction – which I have been procrastinating ever since August. I'm a horrible human being.  
Oh well! I hope you guys will forgive me, and here is another chapter :) Hope you enjoy! Please leave a review! That would be greatly appreciated 3_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of this wonderful world of magic_

* * *

Draco sat down at the table, opposite his mother. She looked up at him with a weary expression on her face. Her beautiful features were dulled and greyed, compared to her ordinary self. Her shoulders and back were still kept straight, and her clothes were immaculate as normal. She gave him a faint smile before her eyes moved back down to her food. Draco simply gave a short nod back to her, before turning to look at the empty seat beside her. Lucius Malfoy hadn't joined his family for dinner in several months. In all honesty, Draco was quite content with the fact. He didn't care much for his father. At least not anymore. It didn't make the situation any better that he had near wilted away in Azkaban. He was the reason his family was in this mess in the first place. And now he was too weak and too cowardly to get them out of the mess, or even to better the situation the slightest.

Draco was the only person left who actually fought for his family's survival these days, although it was in complete secrecy. Narcissa couldn't be blamed though. She was caught between the wrath of her sister and husband. She did everything she could to keep Draco well and alive though. She cooked for him, even though Bellatrix said that was supposed to be house-elf-work. She helped him with his injuries after his training sessions with the Dark Lord and gave him random gifts from time to time to show how she treasured him. But her small acts of kindness wouldn't save their family. If Voldemort succeeded, their family would stay in his service forever. If they would ever protest, their lives would end, or at least their freedom would be taken away. Not that they had much freedom in the present, but at least they were able to stay in their own house and keep their own servants. It was going to feel different for a few weeks, now that Voldemort was away. Maybe it would feel a little more like home again. For a while.

Draco and his mother ate in silence. It was comfortable, almost nice even. They shared a few glances and smiles, and small exclamations of satisfaction about the delicious meal. Draco could tell that his mother had worked hard on it. He _did_ appreciate it, sincerely. It was a glimpse of normality in between everything else that was going on.

His thoughts went back to their situation. The only way they could truly be free again, was if the war ended. If Voldemort lost. If he was killed.

But that was impossible.

Voldemort was the strongest wizard alive. The only man who could've overpowered him was gone. And it was Draco's own fault. Dumbledore might not have been killed by his own hand, but it had been his job, and he had also been the one who had made it a possibility.

What also frightened him was the fact that _if_ the war ended, their situation might be worsened. Perhaps his mother would be safe, as she was not a death eater, but himself… well, he would definitely be put in Azkaban, if they ever found any proof of his affiliation. Proof that was, unfortunately, very much visible on his left forearm. The only defence he could come up with was that he had been forced by his father, but that was a lie. He knew, and hated the fact, that he had wanted this once. And not too long ago, either.

His thoughts were interrupted by the all-too-familiar footsteps of his aunt entering the dining room. Narcissa looked up at her sister. She wasn't smiling but gave her an acknowledging nod. "Cissy, I am heading out to meet with some snatchers. Apparently, Scabior has found something of _interest_." Her voice sounded bored. Draco knew she would rather have been spending her time in the dungeons with miscellaneous prisoners, playing them like instruments. Different curses, and different injuries, tended to create certain sounds. Draco was sure she found it fascinating. If you tickled a person, they would giggle. If you stabbed them… well, the sound would be quite dissimilar.

"Very well. And please, Bella, don't bring any over to the house this time. Those people reek. And last time, I swear someone stole a candlestick from the drawing room." Narcissa didn't look at her sister as she spoke. Everyone present in the room was aware that even though Narcissa was the youngest of her sisters, she had the most power when it came to the household. They were, after all, in her house. Bellatrix would never go against her younger sister as long as they were under her roof. Outside of the Manor, however, was a whole different story. Draco could tell from the corner of his eye that Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but accepted the terms before she made her way out of the room without another word.

Draco and Narcissa finished their supper in silence. A house elf appeared to clear the table, as they both got up. "I think we should both retire. It's getting quite late." Narcissa moved over to her son, with graceful steps. Her arms wrapped around him. He had grown taller than her, now. He wrapped his own arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "Good night, mother."

* * *

Hermione was dizzy, struggling to keep herself awake. She knew she would survive after drinking the blood replenishing potion, but the effect of the blood loss was still present. It was a weird sensation. She had almost bled to death on an earlier occasion when Bellatrix had gone a little overboard with her "free time activities". She would have, if it hadn't been for the house elf that had, without being commanded, come to help her. She remembered the feeling of dizziness at first, then feeling drowsy and sleepy, before feeling almost a little giggly. She remembered laughing a little at the appearance of the house elf. That was right before she had passed out. She figured, if she was ever going to die a slow death, it would have to be due to blood loss. It was almost like being drugged, and falling asleep. The thought didn't even frighten her anymore. Sometimes she figured death would be a welcome escape from the nightmare she found herself in.

She heard a loud _crack_ as a house elf appeared with another flask of potion in its hand for her. "Mr Malfoy told Liar to give you another dose, Miss Granger," the little elf said, carefully, as it moved towards her. Due to her clouded mind, she didn't even think about the name of the house elf. Hermione also didn't care why Malfoy wanted to make sure she would live right now, even less why he would care to strengthen her. She figured it would have to be in preparation for tomorrow's sessions. Or just because the death eaters still thought she could provide them with information. She thanked the elf and drank the potion. After finishing, she expected the elf to leave, but it was still standing there, a little unsure of itself, looking up at her, then down to the floor, then back up at her again, holding the bottle with both of its hands. It was clearly thinking about saying something that it was probably not allowed to say. Hermione gave it a reassuring smile. "I am truly grateful for all the help you give me, you know" she tried, encouraging the elf to open up. It clearly had something on its mind. The elf lit up a little but kept silent. It gave her a smile and a nod, saying: "Liar will bring you some fresh robes, Miss," before disapparating again.

Hermione's thoughts started to wander back to what had just transpired before the elf had appeared. Draco Malfoy had used the curse that had been written in that blasted book Harry had used in sixth year. The book they had later found out belonged to no other than Severus Snape. The man who killed Dumbledore.

She remembered it now. _Sectumsempra._ Draco had learnt that spell, and not just learnt it, but was able to execute it perfectly nonverbally, and not to mention _wandless_. She hadn't seen anyone other than Dumbledore use wandless magic before. She had to admit it: she was impressed. What had further surprised her, was what he had told her before leaving. He had told her that the only thing that mattered was to stay alive. This, of course, made sense. He was a Slytherin after all. Self-preservation and all that. But what was weird was that it seemed like he was not only talking about himself, he seemed to want to keep _her_ alive too. But why? The logic answer would simply be that Voldemort wanted to use her as bait, or that they would keep trying to extract information from her, but she had this weird feeling in her chest that she couldn't shake. She felt as if Malfoy had his own motive. What it was, she didn't know. He was definitely hiding something, though, and hiding it well.

This feeling didn't make her hate him less, however. Sure, she understood that he might have had it tough, but that didn't make up for his horrid personality. Although she hadn't seen him since the day Dumbledore had been killed, with the exception of a few minutes around Easter, and a few hours ago, she was sure he couldn't have changed _that_ much. The only thing that had properly changed was his demeanour. He had been so calm. Too calm. He hadn't even enjoyed himself, he had simply acted, as if torture was a part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth in the morning. It was frightening. More frightening than she cared to admit. But what was even worse was that she had felt his skill on her body today. She had always known he was good at magic, but not at this level. Apparently, the tutoring and training that Bellatrix had mentioned had done something to him.

He could truly hurt her if he wanted to.

She could feel the anxiety build up inside her. Bellatrix didn't care, she was just playing around. Malfoy was somewhat more unpredictable. At least he wouldn't rape her if he was telling the truth. If that could even be considered any kind of comfort, she had to hold on to it anyway.

But on a more important note. She knew that Voldemort was away for a while. She had to start thinking about escaping. That, or think about certain death. The latter almost seemed the better option at the moment, but she knew there was more at stake than her life if she was to give up. With Voldemort in the house, her chances were less than nought. Now, she might be able to find a tiny little window of possibility. The problem was, she was useless without her wand. She was tied up, in a room without light, magically sealed, in a manor with all kinds of protective charms and curses. Surrounded by death eaters and the Malfoy family.

The only ones that might help her, would be the house elves. She would definitely have to give it a try. Perhaps at least _one_ of them could help. It wasn't likely though. House elves didn't seem to like her that much, even though she had been trying to fight for their rights ever since fourth year. Dobby was the only option, as he was also the only one wanting to be free for some reason. But she had no idea on how to contact him. As he didn't belong to her, she couldn't call for him.

* * *

Draco entered his room. It was chilly. The window was wide open. He could hear the rain falling outside. "Damned English summers," he muttered to himself, as he walked into the room, taking off his long, black, robe. He threw it on his bed before moving towards his ensuite bathroom. One of the perks of living in a mansion was that he had his private quarters where nobody in his family would come and disturb him unless strictly necessary. And most of the time people had the decency to knock. He gave a small chuckle as he thought of the Weasley family and how they probably had to sleep in one room with the amount of space they had available, and the vast amount of children. At least he had that going for him.

He closed the door to his bathroom, more out of habit than necessity, and started unbuttoning his shirt. That's when he noticed the blood on his sleeve. The blood had dried and looked almost black in contrast to his white, button-up shirt. It was covering his forearm all the way up to his elbow. He couldn't even imagine how he had been able to overlook it over dinner. Or that his mother had. She normally had an eye for detail. He cursed to himself, as he took his shirt off and threw it in the sink. He put the tap on, and cold water started to spread across the fabric. The water quickly turned a pink colour, and the all too familiar smell of iron entered his nostrils. He breathed it in. That's when he remembered whose blood he was breathing. He took a step back from the sink, letting the water running.

Her blood had been just like any other blood. It was completely the same. Same colour, same smell, same thickness. He knew that witches and wizards with muggle parents had completely normal blood, but he had never actually thought properly about it. Why were they called "mudbloods"? Their blood was just as pure. Their magic was not inferior, either, as Granger had proved time and time again. Was it out of fear for the unknown? He had truly hated muggles and muggle-borns his entire life, without actually understanding why. It was just how it was. His parents hated them, all his friends hated them, and they had even been portrayed as monsters in the bedtime stories that his mother had read to him as a child. He had been afraid of them for a time, before understanding that they couldn't hurt him, that he was superior to them. He could hurt them with just a flick of his wand, or even with words if he wanted to. They couldn't do anything back.

He grew up with stories of how witches had been burnt by muggles, how they had been hunted and forced to live in secrecy. How muggles even started killing their own kind for profit. As a child, he remembered imagining muggles with sharp teeth and nails, with large noses (much like Professor Snape's) and tiny, deep-set eyes (much like Crabbe's), and always carrying around dangerous weapons. He had imagined that they could sneak into his bedroom at night and burn him to death, or drown him. But this wasn't the case. He had learnt that long before he started Hogwarts, but he had hated them nonetheless, because it was expected, but also because that was all he knew. And the few muggle borns he encountered at school were annoying. Especially Granger. The stuffed up know-it-all, always meddling in business that had nothing to do with her. She was also annoyingly one of the few who actually made good comebacks at his insults. He would, for instance, never forget the slap she gave him across his face in third year. He couldn't even remember why, but he could still remember the tingling feeling it left. The only good thing about Granger was her skill at magic. Which had surprised him, at first. She was a mudblood. She was inferior to him. She wasn't supposed to surpass him in magic, and let alone the entire school! He had, obviously, been proven wrong at this.

He started feeling sick of himself for thinking about Granger, even though it wasn't necessarily in a nice way. He turned off the faucet. He put both his arms on the side of the sink, for support. He felt a little dizzy. He had, after all, been using the cruciatus curse for three hours straight without a break. It had been one of the longest uninterrupted sessions he had ever had, and he could feel the strain on his body, and on his mind. He looked down at his arms, slightly shaking. He could clearly see the dark mark on his left forearm, Granger's blood encircling it. It was darker than ever before, and it stung from time to time, but he supposed he had gotten used to it. The worst part was that it was unremovable. Nothing could remove the mark, except if he chose to chop his whole arm off. Which was out of the question. At least for now.

The rest of his arms were covered in thin, light scars. As was the rest of his body, with an especially nasty one across his chest area. These were the scars he had left from Potter's Sectumsempra curse a year ago. Professor Snape had been there in time to save his life, but he hadn't been taken to the hospital wing in time to save him from scarring. He had always thought scars were ugly. Especially the stupid scar on Scarehead's forehead. But he had grown to accept these scars. They were always covered by his clothes, so it's not like anyone would point it out to him all the time, and at the same time, they proved as a reminder of how he almost died that day. And that he wouldn't let himself end up in that position again. All that mattered, was to stay alive. Stay alive, and safe. And keep his mother in the same state. Family above all.

Except for his father. He had proved that he was not worthy of being family anymore.

He cleaned himself up, put on some comfortable loungewear, before calling a house elf to sort out his blood-stained, and now soaked, shirt. He also told the elf to give Granger another blood replenishing potion. He was sure that she would be quite reduced the next day. She might not survive a torture session without it. And he wanted to keep her alive, and not for Voldemort. He had his own reasons.


End file.
